


Resourceful

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Sheriff of Nottingham, revenge happens to other people.  Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resourceful

**Author's Note:**

> Written for foxtwin

 

 

The Sheriff of Nottingham has a castle with thick, strong walls; he has dozens of well-armed, well-trained men to protect him. Failing those, he has a stunning array of traps and snares--and failing them, he has Guy of Gisbourne, although lately he's been reconsidering numbering the man among his assets.

Considering his vast and varied resources, therefore, to say that he didn't _expect_ to be sheriff-napped would be something of an understatement.

"Will _someone_ tell me how this happened!" he demands. The walls of the well echo his cries, but beyond that, he receives no answer.

The sheriff pauses. Takes stock. He has become something of a skilled accountant of late, what with financing the plot to assassinate King Richard and rule England via an army of mercenaries; he has learned, over time, how to transfer numbers from one column to another in order to stretch lean resources further.

He has two (2) free hands. Two (2) free legs (slightly bruised). Clothing on his back, assorted. The bottom of the well, which consists mostly of compacted mud, and the sides of the well, which consist entirely of stone (hastily mortared). He has zero (0) knives, bows, handy bits of rope, secret passageways, or, in short, anything else useful.

There is a shriek, and the sheriff looks up.

Abruptly, he has one (1) large human, male, aimed directly at his head; he flattens himself against the wall of the well and tries to avoid breaking the man's fall in any way. Far be it from the sheriff to sacrifice his person for another's good--even by accident.

When the man has stopped twitching, the sheriff prods him with a boot and turns him over, hissing a little in anticipation of a mangled body. Or at least a beastly little gut wound from that knife at the man's waist. However, the man appears (roughly in order of ascending importance) stunned, largely uninjured, and _familiar_.

He's one of Robin's men: the scraggly servant-type, Many or More or something. Which is a pity, really, although the knowledge is useful even if the man really isn't. And the sheriff had just been longing for someone to kick.

As he aligns the toe of his boot with the man's lowest rib, he considers what this sudden arrival could be in terms of usable assets--quite apart from the sheer entertainment of watching him groan a bit at the first kick, and outright whimper at the second.

The facts, as the sheriff now understands them, are several but simple:

1) Robin Hood is in all probability _not_ his captor.

2) This does _not_ mean that he can't blame Robin Hood anyway.

3) There is, however, an ever-increasing likelihood that said outlaw is even now making a daring and creative assault upon Wherever and Whoever in order to rescue Moreover from his inevitable death by starvation.

4) However, in the event that death by starvation _does_ become inevitable--

"That's _disgusting_ ," cries the man on the floor, wincing and dragging himself to his feet; the sheriff realizes belatedly that the virtue of an internal monologue is, actually, its internality. "Is there _nothing_ beneath you?"

"Sticks and stones will break my bones," sneers the sheriff, "But words will make me hurt you."

"I don't think that's very grateful," says Manifold. He draws himself up to his full, rather puny height, chin up and hands clenched at his sides. "And after I'd come to _rescue_ you!"

"Well, color me grateful that you're as _stupid_ as you are incompetent." The sheriff's full height is just slightly higher, which pleases him immensely.

For a moment, they stare each other down. Multiple's nostrils flare. The sheriff strokes his chin. They both lean forward, chests puffed out--then rock back on their heels, folding their arms over their chests.

Then the sheriff rolls his eyes and disengages. "Now explain the part where you're actually useful."

For a moment, Robin Hood's right hand man actually perks up like a partially concussed puppy offered a cyanide-laced hunk of beef. "The rescue, you mean."

"The _rescue_." It doesn't sound any less absurd when he says it.

"Well--!" Most looks as though he's about to warm to his topic, which the sheriff _certainly_ can't have. He leans against the wall of the well and makes a dismissive gesture.

"Skip the part about Prince John, my death in unusual circumstances, hanging the villages, burning the children, blah dee blah dee _blah_. Get to the part about who tossed me down here, and how they got hold of _you_."

At that, the man coughs and fiddles with his kerchief. "Ah," he tries, slightly less warm to the subject already. "I actually _fell in_ more than was gotten a hold of. Er, this isn't--you see, this is going to be a bit awkward to say."

"Get _on_ with it."

He coughs again, carefully studying the caked mud. "Well. You remember that nunnery you'd wanted to take? For a guard tower in the middle of Sherwood, you'd said. And ... you know, they _did_ warn you that you'd live to regret the, ah, the day you ..."

Unfortunately, Moron is unable to complete his story due to the sheriff's laughing in his face.

"I've being _incarcerated_ by the _cloistered_! Enclosed by the enclosed!" he manages to gasp out, after a long and satisfying laugh. "Stunned by a nun on the run!"

"Er, she's not really on the _run_ \--"

"Not _yet_ ," agrees the sheriff, flashing his most affable murderous smile (which, he felt, was enhanced rather than diminished by that awkward tooth). "Fortunately, I'm being rescued."

"Well, under certain conditions," says M ...

The sheriff pauses, sans cunning derogatory name.

"I didn't tell you about the conditions?" asks Much.

"You might've skipped that part."

"Oh, riiight, when I was skipping the blah dee blah dee _blah_."

Gritting his teeth, the sheriff demands, "The _conditions_."

Much actually smirks. "We put you on a boat. And then we sail that boat all the way down to the sea. And then we drop you there."

"By the sea."

A broader smirk. "By the sea."

The sheriff's cutting reply is forestalled by a coil of rope suddenly falling between them. Much leaps upon it at once, calling up to presumably-Robin, "I've explained the conditions to him!"

And although the sheriff has very little that's complimentary to say about Robin, he has to admit--the man knows how to convey an eyeroll by vocal tone alone. "You _explained the conditions to him_."

The faint sound that follows resembles that of a forehead being smacked, repeatedly.

* * *

Night has fallen. Even the nuns are asleep. Robin's voice is hoarse, and he has gone well past cajoling by now and entered the realm of resigned pleading.

"Just grab onto the bloody rope, sheriff. We can renegotiate the conditions when you're up."

"I don't _think_ so!" answers the sheriff. "I refuse to be rescued!"

In a way, he's grateful for the darkness. It's covered the fact that he's pinched Much's knife and cut off a good twenty feet of Robin's rope. Sooner or later, the sheriff can put his own escape plan into effect.

Revenge, he supposes, can be forestalled until he has returned to his castle with thick walls, until he is surrounded once again by well-armed guards (and until he's given Guy of Gisbourne a thorough tongue-lashing).

Patience is a resource--and he is nothing if not resourceful. 

 


End file.
